Richard and the Painting of Paris
by Linge
Summary: Part 1 of my Christmas trilogy.


**Richard and the Painting of Paris**

Caroline came storming into her apartment in a huff, slamming the door shut behind her. Richard looked up from his work, furrowing his brows at the sight of his employer's unusually angry appearance. _This can't be good_, he thought to himself, as he watched her slump down on the sofa, burying her face in her hands. He briefly contemplated ignoring her, to keep concentrating on the card he had been working on, but he quickly realised he was foolish for even thinking he could manage such a thing. Even a quick glance in the redhead's direction was enough to render him helpless, and he couldn't ignore her. It was pathetic, he was well aware of that, but he'd given up trying to deny his feelings for her a long time ago. He was still pretty good at hiding them, though; he was terrified of giving his emotions away because he knew it could completely destroy him. He couldn't let that happen, and he definitely couldn't lose Caroline. She had become way too important to him, and the thought of not having her in his life anymore was unbearable. So he took a deep breath, and put on his best pretend-not-to-care face.

"Okay, what is it?" he asked with an exasperated tone. She was just staring at her feet now, shaking her head and muttering to herself. At the sound of his voice, however, she looked up.

"Oh, it's Del!" she practically spat. His eyebrows raised slightly at the sheer bitterness of it, and a second later it seemed to have caught up with her as well, because she shook her head violently and looked back down at her feet again.

"It's stupid, really. And I'm stupid for allowing it to happen in the first place. I mean, what was I thinking? That we would go to Paris, and he'd suddenly transform into a sensitive, caring person? HA! Stupid." She was speaking in a much calmer manner now, but her voice was still laced with anger, and Richard was still confused as to what the hell she was talking about.

"Caroline, slow down. We all know Del is the idiot in this equation. I don't even need to know the full story to know _that_. But you're going to tell it to me anyway, so go ahead."

Caroline looked up, giving him a wry smile. "I can always count on you to say the right thing, can't I?" she chuckled, but her eyes had softened slightly. _God, she's beautiful_, he thought, and he struggled to stop himself from gazing at her.

"Anyway," she continued, "Del and I were at the travel agency earlier, and they didn't have anything available for Christmas, so she asked us if we wanted to book a trip for April instead. Then Del, of course, had to imply that he didn't think we'd still be together at that point. God, why do I keep putting up with this crap? What is _wrong_ with me?"

_Nothing_, he found himself thinking. _Absolutely nothing_.

"Like I already said, Del is an idiot. You deserve better." _Understatement of the year_, he thought, mentally rolling his eyes.

"Hang on, I'm not done. I decided it was time to finally end things, because he's been driving me crazy for months now and it's just run its course at this point, but of course the asshole beats me to it by breaking up with _me_. _HE_ DUMPED ME. Can you believe that?!" He could have sworn that was smoke coming out of her ears. She was really furious, in a way he never thought he'd live to see.

"Caroline…" He said with an exasperated sigh. "It really doesn't matter who did it. It's done." He shrugged, trying to distance himself from what he was feeling, and turned his attention back to the drawing on the desk.

Of course, it was only a matter of seconds before he heard sniffling coming from the other side of the room. He tensed up at the mere thought of her crying. He hated that.

"Oh goody, now you're crying," he said, trying his best to sound sarcastic, even though he was breaking inside.

"No, I'm not," she said, choking back a sob. "I'll be fine in a minute, just ignore me."

_Yeah, right, like that's going to happen_. Never, not once, had he succeeded in ignoring this woman. It was impossible.

"Please stop that." Oh god, he could feel himself caving in, and before he could stop himself, he added, "Do you want to talk about it?" _God dammit. Why?_

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes already red from crying, and he thought to himself that he couldn't possibly be more in love with her than he was in that moment. His heart ached at the sight of her, so small and vulnerable, and all because of what some superficial idiot had done to her. If Caroline were his, there was no way he would ever so much as _think_ about not being with her five years from now, much less five _months_. How could any man be that stupid?

"It's okay, Richard, you don't have to listen to my pathetic girl problems. It's not like that's in your job description or anything."

"Caroline, there are a lot of things that aren't in my job description," he said with a smirk, which earned him a small laugh. _Like being in love with my boss. That's definitely not in the job description._

"Fine, I just… I really wanted to go to Paris. I wanted to have a romantic Christmas with a man who actually loves me, and instead I got stuck with someone who obviously doesn't think I'm special enough to last all the way to _April_." She shook her head sadly.

"If it helps, I don't think Del has the brain capacity to think that far ahead at all," he said, with his best attempt at a sympathetic smile.

"Thanks, Richard," she chuckled. "I guess Paris will just have to wait."

* * *

><p>When he'd finally left her apartment, Caroline had been on the floor eating cookies, after having made something she had <em>called<em> eggnog, which he believed to have been merely alcohol. She had gone back to cursing Del to herself, and he'd actually found it strangely endearing. If it had been anyone else, he would have been annoyed. _Why does everything this woman says or does make me want to kiss her?_

He wished he could give her Paris. He wanted so badly to see her happy, because seeing her upset actually pained him. But what could he possibly do about it? It's not as if he were in a position to actually do something.

Reaching his apartment, he immediately started doing the only thing he could think of to vent his frustration: painting. He was still mentally cursing Del, occasionally shaking his head at the other man's immense stupidity. _People like him are what's wrong with the world_, he thought to himself as his brush moved against the canvas in front of him. Oh god, he loved her. He really loved her. He wanted, more than anything, to show her how special she was, and to make her feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet, because that's what she was.

_If only…_

Turning his attention back to the canvas, he realised that he had started to paint a picture of Paris. It was one of his favourite places from when he had visited the city, and he found himself thinking about how much more beautiful this place would be if Caroline were there as well. He would love nothing more than to take her for a moonlit walk along the Seine, holding her hand in his, and with the thought of this he poured his heart and soul into painting this picture for her, the only piece of Paris he could offer her. Her angelic face was dancing around in mental images, and his brush moved in soft passionate strokes, allowing him to express his love for Caroline without using words. He had promised himself he would never speak those words, because as suffocating as the pain of trying, and failing, to suppress his love for her was, it would be even more painful to lose her, which was surely what would happen if she ever found out.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, as he carefully wrapped the painting, he mentally prepared himself for what he was setting himself up for by giving her this. Remaining casual about it could prove to be difficult. He knew all too well what she was like, and she was one of those people who got emotional at the smallest things, like seeing a puppy, or a little old lady walking her great grandchild through the park. He didn't handle displays of emotion very well, and <em>especially<em> not hers. They were too dangerous, the possibilities for unfortunate slip-ups on his part were endless, but he wanted to offer her some small gesture of comfort so much he was willing to risk all of that. He wanted her to have Paris. In his dreams, he would be taking her there himself, but in reality he would just give her this painting. Hopefully it would put a smile on her face, at least, and the sight of that would be worth all the pain in the world.


End file.
